Reckless Nights in Rome (19 page)

Bronte bit down
on her bottom lip, taking in the space and the spare minimalist
decor. The pure masculine feel of the place was intimidating.
Testosterone leaked out of every black leather sofa, chair and
lamp. It could do with flowers and plants she decided, something to
humanise the room, silk cushions on the leather sofas and chairs to
break it up.

“What would you
like to do first?” Nico asked standing very still, just watching
her. Dark eyes stayed on hers and that weird wave of vulnerability
washed over her again. She was alone with him in Rome. It didn’t
feel real.

The day’s
events had taken their toll on her, she realised now, especially
after spending the night in Nico’s arms. Meeting her father for the
first time had drained her. Then visiting the family crypt, her
brother’s accident, the rush to Rome along with the heady relief
Alexander was going to be okay was all too much. She felt punch
drunk and terribly disoriented. What she needed was something to
anchor her to the earth instead of her emotional centre bouncing
around like a damn ping pong ball.

At the moment
Nico seemed more foreign to her too in this environment. His strong
features appeared harsh, more powerful.

Eyes narrowing,
his brows met as he continued to watch her. “A bath? Food?”

Hysteria built
inexorably from her solar plexus. Dear God, she was going to lose
it right here in front of him. She blinked rapidly determined not
to break down. The man would think she was certifiable. What was
she doing? She was so terribly tired and he looked as if he could
swallow her in one big bite. He’d probably expect her to give him
another night of hot sizzling passion and she just didn’t have it
in her.

“Bronte?” Nico
pushed her gently onto a sofa, grabbed a stool and sat in front of
her. “What is it? Speak to me.”

He didn’t touch
her and for that she was eternally grateful.

Shaking her
head Bronte looked into his face and it was as if she was seeing
him for the first time. Her vision clicked into focus. Who was this
man? What the hell was she doing?

She stood. “I’m
very sorry, Nico. I can’t do this.”

He rose, took
her hand and she snatched it back.

“Please don’t
touch me.”

“Okay, you need
a drink, I do too. Just relax here a moment.”

Nico moved into
the open plan kitchen, helped himself to a beer and poured her a
glass of white wine all the time keeping a close eye on her.

He placed the
wine on a small table.

Bronte sank to
the couch and picked up the glass.

She looked at
him. He wasn’t angry. But she wondered how he was going to take it
when she told him she didn’t want to have an affair with him or
anything else for that matter.

Making himself
comfortable in a chair, his eyes narrow and thoughtful, Nico took a
sip and waited.

“I don’t know
who I am anymore,” Bronte confessed.

“Why do you
feel like that?”

“It’s my
behaviour. Especially recently, it’s just not me, Nico. I can’t be
someone I’m not.”

“Do you want to
know how I see you?”

Face flushed,
Bronte shook her head, staring into her wine.

“I can
imagine.”

“I see a
strong, beautiful woman who works hard and never gives up. She’s
funny and warm and loving. Her family and friends love her very
much.”

Bronte simply
shook her head. He knew nothing about her.

“I thought I
could do this but now I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“What is
‘this’?”

She stood and
paced as her mind whirled off in ten different directions.

“Being here
with you. I should be in a hotel near the hospital. I don’t usually
jump into bed with men I hardly know.”

“
Si
, I
should hope not,
cara
.”

He wasn’t
taking her seriously she realised, pressing her fingers into her
eyes.

“For the first
time in my life, I decided to be selfish. No strings. No
expectations. No promises. You were perfect.”

His eyes
quizzical, Nico sent her a slow smile.

“I do not know
whether to be flattered or offended.”

Bronte rubbed
the tension easing slowly from her neck and sent him a sad
look.

“If I stay here
with you it will be under false pretences. I should be at a
hotel.”

“I do not
understand.”

She owed it to
him after everything he’d done for her to be nothing less than
honest.

“Well, we’re
having an affair and you’ll want constant monkey sex. I’m not the
type of person you think I am.” She jumped as he roared with
laughter and shook his head.

Nico rose, took
her in his arms and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Oh, Bronte,
monkey sex? What on earth is that?”

Smiling into
his chest she inhaled the scent that was pure Nico and sighed.

“Something
Rosie said.”

His big body
shaking with laughter Nico lifted her chin and kissed her with a
soft delicate brush of the lips.

“But we are not
having an affair
, cara mia
. Neither of us is married.”

“What are we
having?” she wanted to know.

With a gentle
hand he stroked her hair.

“We are in the
early stages of a relationship. Let us make a promise to each
other. We must only have the truth between us. Agreed?”

His eyes held
hers. And Bronte read a mix of understanding and humour.
“Agreed.”

“If you do not
want to sleep with me and have monkey sex then you tell me.
Agreed?”

She let out a
breath feeling incredibly foolish. “Agreed.”

“If you want me
to do something then you tell me. Agreed?”

Nerves, Bronte
realised with relief, she’d only had an attack of nerves.
“Agreed.”

Pulling her
close, Nico nuzzled her hair.

“What happened
in the car? You changed.”

“Memories,”
Bronte told him.

“Sad
memories?”

“Yes and no. I
came to Rome with my parents years ago. We had an amazing
time.”

Lifting her
chin, his thumb stroked her bottom lip and the little pull in her
tummy reminded her of his fatal attraction as her eyes clung to
his.

“You need to
learn to speak your thoughts rather than keeping them locked inside
your head,” he said as he kissed her.

Their agreement
for the truth between them had Bronte opening her heart.

“I wondered
what they would think if they could see me now.”

Those dark eyes
studied her face. “And what conclusion did you come to,
cara
?”

Her throat
tightened and her eyes stung.

“They would be
ashamed, disappointed in me.”

Nico shook his
head vehemently. His eyes never left hers for a moment.

“Never, I do
not believe that for a moment. Look at what you are doing with your
life, working hard and running the business. It is a great success.
I heard plenty of people on Saturday night say how proud your
parents would be of you and Alexander.” His mouth nuzzled hers. He
raised his head, eyes gentle. “You are still grieving,
cara
.
You have had an emotional day. Rome has brought back happy memories
that have made you sad. That is all.”

A heavy weight
lifted from her heart. She felt free for the first time in a long
time. Her parents had loved her unconditionally. She remembered
that now. They wouldn’t dream of judging her and who was she to
judge them?

“Nico?”

“Yes,
Bronte?”

“I’m
starving.”

He took her to a family
run trattoria.

They ate pasta
and drank red wine which brought a light flush to Bronte’s cheeks.
And Nico discovered she had a passion for ice cream, particularly
white chocolate.

On the return
to his apartment he realised she loathed the decor with the same
passion she had for ice cream. Well, the decor was easily fixed. A
few calls and it would be in hand.

After Bronte
had made emotionally charged calls to Rosie and a person called
Carol cancelling a lunch date, he’d urged her to take a warm bath
alone. And he’d left her deeply asleep in his bed. The girl was
near collapse this evening. Her face appeared too pale with dark
circles of sheer exhaustion under her eyes. Getting up at six every
morning was taking its toll but he had a plan to fix that.

Nico narrowed
his eyes as he lit a long slim cigar and sank into a recliner on
the balcony. His breath rose in the frosty air. He studied the sky.
It would snow tomorrow. He could smell it. Blowing smoky circles,
Nico carefully analysed the ache in the region of his heart and the
butterflies in his gut with a mixture of regret and excitement.

Without him
being aware of it, Bronte had slipped into his heart. Time to face
facts. He cared about her, perhaps too much? Shrugging his
shoulders, he smiled. When the hell had he ever cared whether a
woman liked his decor? Never. When had he ever cared enough to
comfort a woman? Never.

But then, he’d
never had a woman as unaffected and wonderfully naive as Bronte.
Was that it? When he thought of the hard, polished, world weary
women he usually indulged in, he shuddered. He found it difficult
to remember a face and that made him cringe. Was this a mid-life
crisis? Thirty-four was surely too young for one.

In the car he’d
watched her lightning change of mood and wondered what was behind
it. For a moment he thought he may need to take her to a hotel. He
could understand her feelings of loss. She had been incredibly
close to her parents. It was understandable. And Alexander’s
accident had brought it all back.

Nico remembered
his own mother and her unconditional love for him. Her death had
broken him. He could admit it now. But he had been a child of ten,
a skinny street urchin, dirt poor and starving. Bronte on the other
hand had been blessed with two loving parents and a loving
brother.

He inhaled
smoke as his mind segued into another issue.

The letter he
received from a lawyer requesting him to meet with his father and
his half-brother in Rome in two days preyed on his mind.
Interesting how they’d crawled out of the woodwork once he was
wealthy and successful.

Apparently the
old man was seriously ill. Tough, he hoped he burned in hell. He’d
left his mother to die, sick and alone and never acknowledged his
younger son, Nico.

According to
his late grandfather his father had seduced his mother. A married
man with a young son, he’d dabbled on the fringes of organised
crime. In the letter the lawyer said they didn’t want anything
except to meet him. His brother wanted to introduce Nico to his
family. He had a wife and two kids apparently. He smiled to
himself, fat chance.

His sordid past
would not touch the life he’d built today. No way would it touch
the embryo of what he may build with Bronte. Their relationship was
too new, too vulnerable.

Christ, they
came from two different backgrounds. He was a tough, streetwise
sewer rat and she was the cool English lady with an impressive
heritage. For the first time in his life, Nico could see a future
stretch in front of him with her at the centre. It scared him how
much he wanted it. He craved the routine and a home with Bronte at
The Dower House. And one day, perhaps they’d be blessed with a
blonde haired little girl and a dark haired little demon with big
green eyes like his mother.

Nico shivered
with the premonition.

Good Lord, he
was being fanciful.

How could this
have happened to him in a few days? She was perfect for him he
admitted now. He’d known it as soon as he set eyes on her. But his
intuition told him something was wrong. Something was tormenting
her. It was there in her eyes when she didn’t think he was looking.
He’d noticed it from the beginning. There were times when she was
mentally absent from him. Something dark lurked at the back of her
eyes keeping her in the past instead of being in the present moment
and he wondered what it meant.

Frowning,
anxiety curled at the base of his spine. Nico hoped to God she
wasn’t in love or still had strong feelings for her ex-fiancé. The
man must be a fool to have had her and let her go.

But he shook
his head, inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke, staring into the
night sky. She was still grieving and that made her vulnerable,
although she hadn’t been terribly vulnerable yesterday morning. He
laughed out loud.

She was
spectacular when she lost her temper, a wildcat. Life with Bronte
Ludlow promised to be very interesting. Nico would put good money
on it that he would never have a boring moment and how amazing
would that be?

She was also a
little repressed sexually.

And he laid the
blame for that firmly at the door of her ex-fiancé. He studied the
tip of his cigar with narrowed eyes. He was almost certain the
bastard had made comments about her breasts. She had a hang up
about them. Well, he would fix that too. Although he fervently
hoped she was not planning implants. He hated those. Bronte did not
have an ounce of vanity in her. Unbelievable really, since she was
the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

What had the
bastard done to her?

And monkey
sex?

What on earth
was that?

“I’m not sure about
this.”

Bronte twisted
and turned in front of a mirror, studying the back of a shocking
pink strapless sheath. Her feet were bare. She tugged at the bust
and hem of the garment. The dress was too wide at the top and too
short.

“I like it. I
like the colour.”

She shot Nico a
dark look. And who asked for his opinion?

“You would,”
she said and didn’t bother not to sound bitter.

No matter how
hard she’d argued that she could afford to buy her own clothes,
he’d steamrolled over all her objections and brought her to a place
she knew was ridiculously expensive.